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In Which John Is A Horndog And Dave Is Really Pretty Dumb

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It starts innocently enough. A gentle hand carding through downy hair. He always tries to straighten his curly mane after he showers, only you managed to drag him into bed with the promise of bro cuddles and watching shitty movies pretty quickly last night. You like his hair curly. It lends him a softer look, framing his freckle-spattered face in a more feminine sort of way. Which you guess is probably the reason he messes with it.

He's barely awake, his face buried into your chest at an awkward angle, breath huffing out gently over your clavicle as you tug your fingers gently through the short hairs at the nape of his neck. He makes this weird sort of grumbling noise, and your chest rises in a soft, breathy chuckle. He's really cuddly in the mornings. You could snap a picture, use it as blackmail for something later. You're pretty sure he wouldn't be keen on you showing anyone that he's anything less than The Coolest (even though everyone already knows he's not).

Your other hand is settled on the small of his back, thumb stroking along the expanse of skin that's been exposed with how his shirt has ridden up. He has really smooth skin, and a nice frame. You know he hates how curvy he is, makes every attempt to appear more angular and masculine, but you're kind of a sucker for his figure.

Your hand traces upwards, along the curve of your friend's (boyfriend's? You're not the most versed on what to call a queerplatonic partner) back, fingertips brushing over the one mole on his shoulderblade that's a little raised. He's got other spots all over that you can't feel, and you try to map them out from memory, arm pulling the fabric of his shirt up more and...

Oh. His breathing's gone a bit uneven.

You pause, considering retracting your fingers, but decide to fuck it, he'll tell you to stop if he wants you to, and it's not like you've never banged him before or something. You could probably go for some lazy morning sex.

He snorts softly when you grope at his tit, which is probably a sign that it was okay to do that. At least he's not freaking out at you. He murmurs something along the lines of: "you're a fucking dumbass," but it's muffled by the blankets and your shirt, so you pretend not to hear him. He sighs softly when you brush a thumb over his nipple, shifting awkwardly. His tits are pressed together like this, and you don't know how comfortable this position is going to be for either of you for much longer.

The hand that had been in his hair moves to cup his jaw, and you tilt his chin up with your thumb and forefinger like they do in cheesy romance scenes in movies. You deliver a quick kiss to his chapped lips (you're buying him more chapstick for his next birthday, you swear to god), grinning at his sleepy face.

"This good?" You ask, voice containing a hopeful lilt. You're 90% certain the answer is yes, but you want to make absolutely certain that you're not making him uncomfortable.

He makes a vaguely affirmative hum in response, and you take that as your cue to shift positions, rolling onto your back and urging him to straddle your waist. The blankets get a little tangled, and he nearly loses his balance, but that's okay, he rights himself and soon you've got your lips reattached to his. Kissing him is nice. Even if it's not an inherently romantic thing for him, it's still open and loving, in a more ambiguous sort of way. He lets out little shaky sighs as you rake your calloused thumb over his nipple, rolling it between your fingers gently before switching to the other one, and you practically grin when his voice rises into a peep.

You like doing this to him. Doing this for him. Knowing that he trusts you with his body like this evokes a warm feeling that makes the whole of your body buzz with adoration. It's stupid, how stupid you are for your best friend. How much your pulse picks up when he breathes out a soft: "John" as you kiss at the skin of his neck. You know his weaknesses pretty well by now, he's not the greatest at hiding them. You start out gentle, brushes of your lips against his soft skin, little kisses pressed along his jaw. He's beautifully tensed, throat working out a silent whine as your teeth finally graze his skin.

When you bite down, he keens, thighs tensing on either side of you, and fuck, you're definitely sporting a chub. Not your fault he's hot and it's early enough for your body to react pretty immediately to stimulus. He shifts again, the fabric of his stupid tuxedo print boxers riding up a bit. Your hands move to rub at his thighs, dipping under the lower hem of fabric to brush over the ridged skin there. You know it's sort of morbid, but his scars are pretty. Paler than his skin, and slightly wrinkled in places, but interesting to run your fingertips over. Dave rocks his hips back a bit, probably aiming to rut against your hardening dick, but he can't quite manage in his current position. You snicker and tug at his waistband a bit.

"I was thinking." You start to explain vaguely. Your friend raises an eyebrow at you.

"Thought I smelled wood burning." He replies. Ooh. Ouch. You jab him in the stomach lightly.

"Yenno how you said you might wanna try oral?" You continue, as if he hadn't interrupted you. You revel in the way his face reddens. He shrugs, so you keep pressing a bit, trying to convince him. "Well, do you wanna? It's fun. Promise I won't do anything you don't want me to." He still looks reluctant, and you give him a moment to collect himself before he responds.

"I dunno, it's... I dunno, weird to have you making goo-goo eyes at my crotch." He mumbles, and you pull one of his hands into yours, thumb brushing over his knuckles.

"I won't stare, Dave. Just kinda wanna try sucking your dick." He flushes again, pulling a hand up to press against his face awkwardly, and he's starting to hide, so you attempt to draw him out woth comforting words. "If you don't want to, that's fine, it'd just be cool if you maybe... tried it, at least? If you don't like it, I'll stop." You promise. He huffs out a long exhale, but gives you a little nod. You're practically ecstatic. You sort of really like going down on girls (not that he's a girl, you mean, its just sort of... he has a cooch, or whatever, that's what you're trying to get at), and you'd bet anything Dave will probably be more than okay with shoving his crotch in your face after a minute or so. (He also probably tastes nice, but that's kind of a gross thought, so you shove it away.)

You press a kiss to his hand like the dorky Prince Charming you are, and he flaps it out of your grip in embarrassment. "Come here, then." You urge, hands wrapping behind his thighs to urge him to shift upwards. You're pretty sure he has an aneurysm or something, his mouth trying to form words but sort of flapping uselessley. What finally makes its way out is a choked: "youwantmetositonyourface?" You nearly laugh at him, but you're pretty sure he'd hit you or something, so you keep your amusement reined into a soft smirk.

"Yeah, Dave, unless you'd rather take a whole minute to move." You reply, making it clear that said action is obviously the undesirable option. He just sort of gapes at you, so you snort and pull him down for another kiss, trying to soothe some of the tension out of him. He lets you help him remove his boxers, albeit very awkwardly, as he's still straddling you. You can't help but move your hand to press against his dick, palm grinding against it, and his hips tip forwards. He's pretty wet, which is nice, that had kind of been the goal of your awkward near-cannibalizing his neck (okay so you didn't bite him that hard, but it kind of feels weird to bite him at all, like you're trying to eat him or something. He likes it though, for whatever reason. You totally do not make a mental note to tease him later about having some sort of borderline vore fetish).

You manage to coax him to straddle your face, though you can tell he's hiding his again, even when you're adamantly refusing to look at his crotch (though the temptation is definitely there). Your hands run along the fuzzy hair covering his legs, and you hope the action is soothing. You can't say you really understand what he's feeling, but you understand his discomfort with this. You consider asking if he wants to stop, but he'd probably say yes, so you... elect to stay quiet because you really want to suck his dick, okay? If he seems like he's still struggling later on, then you'll ask. But you want to at least try.

He nearly jumps when you press a few kisses to the inside of his thighs, muscles tightening as he lifts away a bit. Your hands move to hold his hips steady, and he grips at the headboard with one hand, trying to steady himself. Your thumbs rub at his hipbones, and you keep leaving gentle kisses on his skin until he's relaxing, your lips trailing gradually upwards, almost painstakingly slow, until your lips meet his dick. You take it into your mouth, which isn't really a noteworthy accomplishment, he's only about an inch long so far (it's still freaky that T does that, but not exactly unwelcome), and lave your tongue around it. Dave's hips roll down almost immediately, and a choked noise reaches your ears. Sweet.

You focus mostly on his cock, trying to figure out the best way to get him off like this. When you suck on it gently, Dave hisses, his free hand flying to grip your hair and he grinds his hips down into your face, your slight stubble scratching against his thighs. When you repeat the action with more vigor, he pulls at your hair in a way that's almost painful, and you're pretty sure his toes just curled.

"Fuck, fuck, slow down, I'm... fuck." He stammers, and you get the message, drawing away from his cock and drawing the flat of your tongue along his labia, testing more than anything else. His muscles quiver, so you dive in, using the fingers of one hand to spread him open as you work your tongue against him. He lets loose a lot of strained hums and half-formed curses, his hips bucking whenever you tongue at his dick, earlier hesitation apparently forgotten. You guide a finger to press into him slightly, while you groan around his cock. His voice breaks on a whine, nearly squeaking up into a soprano tone as his legs shift, and he spreads himself wider for you. Fuck. He's really hot.

Your finger slides into him easily with how wet he is, and you barely wait before pressing another in. His hips are rolling unevenly, and his face is screwing up a bit from what you can see, so you seal your lips around his dick, curl your fingers inside of him, and give him a hard suck. He tenses and comes with a cry, covering your mouth and chin in jizz. His hips rut fervently into your face, and he sort of smothers you in the process, but you're goddamn pleased that you got him to come.

In any other situation, you'd probably be teasing him about how fast he finished, but you're too busy pushing him towards another climax. He's not always in the mood for a second round, and his thighs are shaking with the effort of holding himself up at this point. However, he seems like he's going nowhere as he lets his mouth fall open, a stream of breathless curses rushing out of him as your free hand settles just above his hip, your blunt fingernails dragging along his skin. You resist the urge to jack yourself off, a true trooper, honestly. Maybe you'll get a medal for managing to not masturbate to your hot best friend while he practically fucks your mouth.

His second orgasm is less intense, but he comes with a staccato moan of your name, riding your face, and he's what you can only describe as Super Fucking Hot, his hair sticking to his forehead a bit with sweat, and his eyes squeezed shut as he rolls his hips languidly onto your fingers, pushing his dick into your mouth.

He sits back after that, and you make a show of getting the breath knocked out of you as he plops his boney butt down right on your chest. He looked dazed as all hell, and you, of course, decide that this is the best time to interrogate him.

"So, was it good for you?" That comment gets you a palm to the face, though it's not so much a slap as it is gently pushing your face to the side. Dave tells you to shut the fuck up. You don't heed his advice.

"Seemed like it was, you came pretty fast, dude." He smacks your arm pretty hard at that, and you whine out an "ow".

"Okay, okay, I'm an ass, I get it. Are you gonna bask in the afterglow for much longer though, or d'you mind helping a guy out?" You ask, making a vague gesture to the obvious tent in your briefs. Dave hums like he's thinking about it, even while he moves off of you, unceremoniously shoving his hand into your underwear and wrapping his slender fingers around your length. You hiss softly, grateful for the friction he provides as he strokes at your cock, thumbing at the crown and making your hips buck. It's a bit of a lackluster handjob, you're not gonna lie, but it's more than enough to get you off, your spunk coating the inside of your briefs as well as Dave's hand as he continues to squeeze at your dick through your orgasm.

He moves to wipe his hand off on the bed, but thinks better of it, using his own discarded boxers to wipe his hand off.

"Jesus, I need a shower or something, fuck." He mutters, mostly to himself, but you respond anyways.

"We could always take one together. A shower together. A together-shower." You suggest, wiggling your eyebrows at him. He rolls his eyes.

"How about sure, if you can beat me to the bathroom." He says, slingshotting his dirty underwear into the hamper and making his way out the bedroom door. You scramble to untangle yourself from the covers, hopping nearly falling over as your feet hit the floor.

"No fair, dude, that's cheating!"

You sprint.